Reintegration
by hoppnhorn
Summary: When creator binds with creation, where do they go? One shot.


This wasn't so bad. He'd imagined great pain or fire but this was…

Soothing.

White. Everything was white. Clu reached for the floor and saw nothing, felt nothing. Twisting and turning, he groped with invisible limbs. He didn't exist. Panic shot through him and he let out a silent yell.

"Relax, man." Clu reeled, or at least his mind did. Kevin Flynn. His creator.

"Flynn?" He tried to call out but heard nothing. The white abyss mocked him as he struggled with his fate. He was alone.

"Not alone. I'm here, Clu." Like a wave, his panic receded. Cool fingers of pressure rippled through his consciousness. He smiled; Flynn **was** there. His presence was tangible in this immaterial state. Clu accepted the tranquility.

"Where is here?" He asked, thinking the question rather than attempting to speak. The void cooed like a loving mother, lulling him.

"Somewhere between life and death, I suppose." Flynn answered. Death. A topic a program wasn't expected to understand. But Clu was different. He'd straddled the line of user and program, human and machine. In his own way, he'd been a miracle. The mood shifted and Clu felt heaviness drape him.

"I'm so sorry, Clu." Flynn's voice was deep and withdrawn, echoing in his mind from far away. "I didn't value you as I should have." Clu felt a pang of shame; he'd been unable to hide his thoughts.

"But I betrayed you. My own user." The weight lifted and Clu relaxed, feeling the effect of his words. "You were everything." He added, recalling the despair he'd carried at the arrival of the ISO's. His creator, stepping over him for another.

"Clu." Flynn whispered, emotion burdening the program's mind once again. Tears weren't shed but both men convulsed with disembodied anguish. They couldn't hide their pain from each other as sharp memories cut deep. Flynn's elation at the ISO's potential. Clu's hatred for his maker's delays. Flynn's excitement for the real world. Clu's devotion to his own. Without verbal exchange, they revealed their truths, wounding with stark honesty. Exhaustion married with profusion and the images slowly died away.

"I did only what you asked." Clu whispered, repeating his only justification. His function, his being. He'd done his task; he'd made the perfect system. Flynn warmed him.

"I was foolish to ask that of you." He answered.

"But I accomplished the task." Clu flurried with incomprehension.

"You cannot accomplish what cannot be defined." Flynn answered. Clu remembered his user's words at the portal. Perfection was unattainable, indescribable. He fought this mentality. He'd found it; he had mastered perfection. Through him, perfection had become a reality. Flynn bore down on him, stilling his swirling logic.

"But what is perfect, Clu?" He rummaged in his code and recited what he found there.

"Excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvement." Flynn chuckled deeply and Clu was perplexed.

"Excellent?" Again, Clu knew the answer. His certainty, however, waned as he recalled the definition.

"Possessing outstanding quality or superior merit; remarkably good." He realized the flaw in the statement and Flynn felt him acknowledge the cycle.

"You see, Clu? Perfection cannot be based in the definite. It is only what we perceive it to be. Perfect is different for every mind." Clu felt baseless. He'd never before reached such a simple conclusion even though he'd been fixated on the task of conquering said elusive state.

"I didn't see…" He started. Unable to admit his shame, he let the words fall from his mind. Flynn was there to catch them, embracing him with tender strength.

"Because I didn't either." His user ended his pain. The bond between them flexed and grew, thriving on absolution.

Clu wasn't troubled with the past, present or future any longer. He had been freed from his binding obligation. Now, he just accepted the vastness surrounding him.

"What happens now?" He asked. Flynn chuckled.

"We go on to what's next, man." He replied. Suddenly, his creator's presence faded and Clu desperately sought him again.

"But our tasks, they are complete." Flynn's voice permeated his senses and the white world around him vanished.

"Nothing is ever complete, Clu."

* * *

><p><strong>I missed writing Clu and I'm desperately trying to pull together a plot for another fic. If you have any thoughts or ideas or wishes...hell anything, I would love to hear from you. I want to come back to this fandom! <strong>


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